


What Do You Do For Money, Honey?

by death_of_romeo



Category: School of Rock (2003), Scott Pilgrim - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, But also, F/M, it's ramona flowers/dewey finn, let me live, they are criminals, this is a rarepair from an rp i am in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_of_romeo/pseuds/death_of_romeo
Summary: She smiles at that, and the tension that had begun to creep into his bones was released; again, the smile is so opposite her posture, her behavior, her /everything/ --- it is pink and ammunition, bright smiles and loaded guns. It is Ramona Flowers and the woman he was beginning to fall hopelessly in love with.





	1. 1

     There was just something thrilling about driving down the highway, radio too loud, windows rolled down, guns blazing and police sirens echoing into the night.

 

  
_Patty is probably watching this on the news right now_ , he thinks, but doesn't allow himself to focus on it for too long; goal number _one_ was to escape the law enforcement currently tailing him. Goal number _two_ would be to get home and deal with the wrath of one Patty DiMarco, but he could do that later. After the cops have lost his trail, after he's let things cool down ( which meant hanging out at one of many safehouses scattered about the city --- being a well-known criminal had its perks, after all ).

 

* * *

 

     "You _what?!"_  


 

     It was almost three in the morning. The city had been much calmer on the drive home ( in a vehicle borrowed by a friend of a friend, the van involved in the chase having been dealt with accordingly ), and he'd hoped to come home to silence. Ned and Patty were usually in bed by now, anyway, but he still took extra care in opening the apartment door, cringing at the soft creaks that echoed through the residence as he stepped in and shut the door behind him.

 

     He thought he was in the clear. He thought he'd not only had a night out on the town, working as one of the most well-known criminal contacts in the city of Los Santos, but he'd also made it home safe and sound. He was very, _very_ wrong.

 

     As soon as the door was shut, he came face to face with one of two roommates, and not even the preferred one, either. Instead, he was faced with the glare by a woman scorned, the only woman to ever instill pure fear into his heart; the right-hand man of the mayor of the city, Patty DiMarco had a certain way with malleable people, and boy, was Dewey Finn about to experience her true powers. 

 

     First, it was a hushed explanation ( words given in as vague a way as possible, so as to prevent any possible repercussions in the future ); _woah, Patty, hey. Sorry I'm back so late, work got kinda crazy. What? Uh, it just kinda got outta hand, but I took care of it, I swear._  


 

     Waving a gun in support of that last statement wasn't exactly the smartest of ideas. He'll admit to that.

 

     "You _what?!"_ she asks, words hushed, obviously in hopes of not waking anyone ( presumably Ned, who was nowhere to be found --- _probably in bed_ , Dewey thinks off-handedly, _lucky_ ). " --- are you out of your _mind?!"_  


 

     He walks to the kitchen, places the pistol on the counter before turning to the fridge; she gives him a look of utter shock and disbelief, but the gesture goes unseen as he scans the fridge for a drink --- he pulls out a soda, pops the top open and downs a good portion of it as she continues to speak ( without allowing him to even get a word in edge-wise --- he was used to this by now ).

 

     "I cannot _believe_ you, Dewey! After all we've done for you, you go and turn into what? A --- ... a _criminal?!_ A _thief?_ I mean, what did you even _do?!_ Did you kill somebody?"

 

     The response, first, is a clink of a soda can onto the counter, sitting right next to the loaded gun, and then a gaze that falls to meet hers.

 

     "I didn't kill anybody. Well --- I mean, I _did_ , but not just that." he realizes the poor wording --- realizes that this writes him as even worse than Patty has suggested. He sighs and tries again. " --- I was an extra hand on a job, then I distracted the cops while they got away, alright? That's it."

 

     "That's _it?!_ Dewey, you're a _wanted criminal_. Do you understand me? People want you _dead!"_  


 

  
_People always want me dead_ , he thinks, though knows better than to say it aloud ( it would be like poking a fire, or a live bear, or some other dangerous thing you shouldn't poke --- it would be a bad idea all around ). He finishes the soda, tosses the can into the trash, then grabs the gun from its place on the counter.

 

     "They won't for long," he ends up saying, walking straight past Patty and beginning to head to his bedroom. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he ignores it for the time being. " --- trust me, everything's gonna be _fine_. Have some faith in me, okay?"

 

     He hears her mutter something --- _have some faith?!,_ he thinks it was --- but he was already on a path to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him before releasing a sigh of relief; finally, he was free.

 

     He checks his phone now, smiling a bit at the text message received.

 

     [ from: ✿ ]: Did you get home safe?

 

 


	2. 2

     The apartment is quiet. A coffee table sits in front of the couch occupied by his guest --- or, well, by the owner of the apartment. He sits on a couch perpendicular to it, legs crossed and feet all on the soft, lush furniture. It wasn't the nicest place --- he would admit to that, has probably told her this fact before --- but he liked it. It was comfortable, and just out of the way enough for the law enforcement of the city to not consider it home to any potential criminals or delinquents ( you know, like the pair sitting here together right now, having tea and small talk together ).

 

     "I told you, I got home _fine_ ," he replies, hoping to finally drink his tea ( hoping the beverage wasn't still too hot --- one attempt and he learns, unfortunately, that it is not yet ready ). " --- as soon as I got in, Patty was yelling at me. _'You're a wanted criminal', 'you're a thief'_ \--- you know, the works."

 

     "Well, you _are_ a criminal."

 

     "Not my point." still, though, he smiles, attempts to drink the piping-hot beverage again. This time, he actually goes through with it, and the woman sitting across from him laughs at the sight ( the laugh is soft, gentle --- nothing like the woman it escaped from, all hard exterior, all scarred and torn, all dynamite and lit fuses --- ).

 

     "Is it still hot?" she chides, and he responds only after swallowing the liquid. The reply is short --- _shut up_ , he says, as if she would actually take the advice --- and he is quick to change the topic to something other than his own embarrassment.

 

     "Anyway...what about you? You get back here alright?" he asks, hoping to divert the attention away from his own mistakes ( not to mention the genuine concern for her safety --- she would try to convince him to not worry, but he knows otherwise ). The question is to ask: _did I do okay distracting the cops? Did you have enough time to get away safely?_  


 

     "Yeah, I did. You did great, Dew."

 

     The comment is said half-jokingly, half _'here is the validation you were looking for'_ , but he takes it, anyway, returning her smile with a bright one of his own.

 

     "Sorry I didn't text you back; as soon as I got in bed, I crashed. I barely even woke up to come see you." which, of course, was a lie; he would never be a no-show for a friend --- those days were behind him now. With his newfound career in the criminal world, punctuality was the key to success ( and staying alive --- that was the most important part ).

 

     "Right. You know, you didn't _have_ to come."

 

     "No, I wanted to!" the response is too quick, words too fast and hurried; of _course_ he wanted to come, he loved to spend time with her, whether that be on a job or just hanging out ( he recalls a night a few weeks past, with the two staying up late playing Rock Band into the early hours of the morning, falling asleep together on the couch --- ). " --- I, uh, I missed you?"

 

     Rule number one of hanging out with a beautiful woman: don't tell her you missed her right after practically yelling at her. Just don't. Things will get awkward from there, and you will be forced into a strange sort of silence for at least sixty seconds. We'll wait.

 

     "You missed me?"

 

     Rule number _two_ of hanging out with a beautiful woman: when she calls you out on something you said, do not try to drink a hot beverage in hopes of avoiding the topic. You cannot avoid it, and things will only become even weirder. Good job.

 

     "Uh...yeah? Yeah."

 

     She smiles at that, and the tension that had begun to creep into his bones was released; again, the smile is so opposite her posture, her behavior, her _everything_ \--- it is pink and ammunition, bright smiles and loaded guns. It is Ramona Flowers and the woman he was beginning to fall hopelessly in love with.

 

     "Good. I missed you, too."

 


End file.
